


Look Back, Move Forward

by firefly_quill



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Hanzo bb tries so hard, Jesse is a bit mean at the beginning, M/M, but it doesn't last, extra tags in end notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly_quill/pseuds/firefly_quill
Summary: Hanzo has joined Overwatch to find the things he has lost-his honour, his relationship with his brother, the ability to love and trust again. Jesse seems determined not to look back at all.





	Look Back, Move Forward

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> I started this story over a year ago, but couldn't quite make it hold together. I think I may have managed it finally! 
> 
> Tags in my end notes contain spoilers.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts if you had the time! <3

“Hanzo!”

Hanzo spun abruptly, away from the inferno of ash and smoke in front of him. Jesse stood across a narrow gap, stretching his hand forward as far as he could.

“Hanzo!” Jesse screamed, voice hoarse. “Take my hand!”

Jesse watched the recognition dawn across the archer’s face, watched as it brought a host of emotions with it—relief, fear, love, distrust, doubt, guilt. The thoughts rushed Hanzo, overwhelmed him, which meant, to Jesse’s horror, that Hanzo hesitated, just for a split second. 

And in that second, the ledge beneath his feet collapsed. 

“HANZO!!”

\--- 

Hanzo bolted upright, his chest heaving to take in oxygen that his body was convinced it was missing. He brushed the hair roughly from his eyes, and it took several tries to free it from the sweat slicking his face. On his arm, his tattoo was already glowing in reaction to a threat that was not there. The darkness confounded him for a few moments more before he realized he was safely in his bed. He turned to find the clock. 

4:00am. 

He’d not get any more sleep tonight. 

While Hanzo was no stranger to nightmares, even he had to admit that the one that had just shocked him from slumber had been extraordinarily intense, although its details were lost to the space between dream and reality. 

He smoothed his hair back, struggling to recall a moment, a sign, a symbol from the dream that might suggest the anxiety that lay beneath. 

Nothing. 

It wasn’t as though there weren’t a whole host of issues that he might choose from, if he were to guess. While he had finally agreed to join his brother in Overwatch just last month, in many ways, the decision had only exasperated the feelings of guilt, culpability and regret that had haunted him for ten years. He was making little progress with his brother, and even less progress as a member of the team.

Hanzo reached first for the bottle of sake by his bedside, but decidedly tossed it further away. No, his nerves needed to be calmed, not dulled. Bracing himself for the cold, he launched from his bed and made his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea. 

The water had just boiled when he heard a familiar jangle of metal spurs approaching. Hanzo exhaled, his fingers betraying his tension by clenching tightly to his tin of tea. If he’d wanted to calm him nerves, this was the last thing he needed. The cowboy had been openly antagonistic about Hanzo’s arrival, almost to the point of violence when they first met. Genji had spoken with him several times since, but it had changed very little. Hanzo could understand the anger, in some perverse way welcomed it as an extension of his own, but still preferred to keep his distance. Somedays, there was only so much one could take, after all, and the nightmare had worn his nerves thin.

He decided it would be best to ignore McCree completely during this particular encounter. Perhaps he would be allowed to take his tea with him to his room without conflict. 

Hanzo heard a soft gasp from behind him as the man finally entered the room. Guessing that he had taken McCree by surprise, he decided he had to speak first. 

“I am almost done,” He said without turning from his task. “The kitchen will be yours shortly.” 

As Hanzo braced himself for one of the verbal rebukes of which the cowboy was so fond, the strangest thing happened instead: McCree remained silent. Hanzo’s heart beat quickened, but he turned slow to face what he was certain would be a gun pointed at his head. Instead, he found the man gaping at him, his eyes wide and glistening. 

“…Are you alright?” Hanzo asked with uncertainty.

McCree shook his head no. 

“Do you require assistance?” Hanzo scanned the man for injuries. 

Once again, a silent shake of the head. 

“If you are certain, then I will be leaving.” Hanzo took his mug and gave the man a passing nod, not expecting the quiet “goodnight” that was barely breathed into the space between them. 

The next morning, Hanzo walked past McCree in the hallway, and was gifted with a glare and the middle finger. It was a relief in some ways, that the cowboy had fallen back to his old patterns. Everything else in his life was already so far off kilter, that Hanzo found a strange reassurance in the reflection of his own feelings from the other man. Yet still, somewhere deep in his heart, he was stung. 

\--- 

It took another month before Hanzo was approved for his first mission. Talon was after equipment from one of the Volskaya factories, and Russia had appealed to Overwatch for help in holding its defenses. 

Genji was thrilled to have Hanzo on the team, insisting that it would be like old times. 

McCree snorted. “Not too much like that *one* old time, I hope.” 

“McCree—” Genji had began, his fingers twitching to form a fist. 

“ _It is alright, Genji_ ,” Hanzo replied evenly in Japanese. “ _That was deserved._ ” 

The vents on Genji’s armor hissed, a reaction that Hanzo now recognized as a sign of frustration. “No. It wasn’t.” He refused to switch to Japanese out of politeness. “McCree is being a dick, and this should always be acknowledged.” 

Hanzo continued to stare at him impassively until he sighed. “ _I_ I am glad that you are with us, brother.” 

Hanzo only nodded, and turned his attention to the window of their transport. 

As was often the case, they found out upon arrival that their opponent’s numbers had been grossly under-reported. 

“They’re at the core,” Lena chirped over the comms with some anxiety. 

“We’re outta time. Move it!” Jesse growled. “I’d for one like to see some of this amazin’ snipin’ that we’ve heard so much about. Have you hit _anything_ up there?” 

“He saved your life twice, you asshole,” Genji snapped. “What type of sharpshooter can’t even see when his back’s being covered?”

“If you didn’t notice, it is just testament to his skill,” Ana added, admonishment thick in her voice. 

“No, he is right,” Hanzo interrupted, embarrassed that they would think he’d need saving. “I shall endeavor to be better.” 

“Oh. Brother, no.” Genji’s voice grew panicked. 

“What?” Ana asked. 

“Brother, as ranking member of Overwatch, I command you: do not enter ‘endeavor to be better’ mode!” Genji sounded more winded this time, as though he knew his brother wasn’t going to listen and was sprinting desperately to catch up with him.

Hanzo snorted to himself, as he ran ahead of his team and climbed a short wall so that the core was in sight. Lena was already there, running interference against a dozen Talon operatives who were streaming through the side door. He shot a sonic arrow to give them the advantage. 

“Thanks love!” Lena chirped over the comm. 

“Anija!” Hanzo heard Genji break into a quick, agitated stream of Japanese over the comm, but it didn’t stop his hand. 

He unleashed arrow after arrow, taking down the agents quicker than they could appear. Eventually, of course, he was sighted. Hanzo felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and spun to dodge the assassin’s first strike. He caught the next on the frame of his bow, and managed a strike of his own before falling intentionally backwards and down from his perch to land on his feet. He was now back-to-back with Lena, not an ideal position given his current weaponry, but exactly the ideal position given his mood. He would not be belittled. He had come to Overwatch to search for redemption, to reclaim his honour and to mend his relationship with his lost brother, and he would prove to himself and others that he was worthy of all these things, despite his past.

Tracer did an admirable job of keeping up. Just as she was about to blink behind an agent, however, her image doubled, fizzled. She appeared where she intended, but a split second later, the bright blue of her blink giving her location away. 

Hanzo drew a storm arrow and unleashed it swiftly at the Talon agents that had moved to surround her, and they fell screaming and clutching at various wounds. 

Lena shook her head a few times and regained her solid form. She shot Hanzo a grin. “Thanks love! You can be my wingman, anytime!” 

Hanzo managed to convey his acknowledgement before she disappeared in another blink.

The assassin was back. She once again aimed for Hanzo, and once again was denied. They danced, and Hanzo found himself wishing for the first time in a decade that he had his sword. He missed a parry, and the assassin landed a lucky slash along his torso. Hanzo grunted and bent over forwards. 

“ANIJA!” Genji rushed in to slash at the assassin, pushing her away from his brother. 

“I am fine,” Hanzo insisted, taking the opportunity to run for the higher ground again. Then, belatedly: “Thank you.” 

“Idiot,” Genji hissed over the comm, too busy to chastise him further. 

Even together, it took them the better part of an hour, but when it was done, much of Talon lay at their feet, or on the run, without the parts. 

“Whew. That was a close one.” Tracer wiped the sweat from her brow. “Hey big guy, can you have a look at the accelerator? I nearly glitched out again.” 

Winston hummed with concern and the two of them fell into a conversation that made little sense to anyone else. 

“Not bad, archer,” McCree admitted, approaching Hanzo begrudgingly. “Coulda left us some, though.” 

“McCree,” Genji spun around, visor glowing in menace. “I swear—”

“Let it go,” Hanzo placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, then released it immediately, realizing what he had just done. Genji jumped several feet into the air like a spooked cat. It had been the first time they had touched since Hanzo’s arrival. 

“I apologize,” They managed to say at exactly the same time, in exactly the same tone. 

Ana snorted, and effectively ended the conversation. “Come on then, children. Let’s go home.” 

\--- 

They returned to Gibraltar late that evening. Hanzo made his excuses, and retired to his room, politely declining Mercy’s medical attention. He was determined not to be a burden, and knew that others on the team had suffered far greater injuries. Besides, he was well-accustomed to treating his own wounds. 

He grabbed his small medical kit from under his bed, and retreated to his washroom to gauge the damage. There were several slashes along his arm, but the one on his torso was almost a foot long. He winced as he untied his gi to get a better look and was pondering whether he had enough bandages for the wound, when he heard a soft knock on his door. Hanzo frowned at the interruption, but tied his gi up again with a grunt, glad that it was dark enough to obscure the blood stains. There was a fair amount of blood on him that wasn’t his own as well. 

He opened the door to find McCree on the other side, hat in his hands. 

“Howdy,” McCree smiled at him— _smiled_. Something in Hanzo’s chest tightened. 

“Hello,” he answered curtly. 

“Listen, I was bein’ an ass today. You were great out there, darlin’, and I don’t give you enough credit.” 

The nickname was new too. Hanzo struggled to make sense of the sudden change in tone. 

“It is nothing,” He shook his head, but said nothing more, hoping that it would encourage the cowboy to leave. Now that he had uncovered it, the gash along his side was really beginning to sting. 

“Well…” McCree scratched at the back of his head, stalling. “I just…also wanted to make sure you were okay. Was a pretty reckless thing you did there, jumpin’ into close combat like that.” 

“I wanted to show you that my arrow always finds its mark,” Hanzo couldn’t help himself, but regretted it instantly. “I apologize. My anger is not directed at you.” 

“It should be.” McCree looked hurt, which Hanzo once again did not expect. “You’ve put up with my shit ever since you got here, and it’s not deserved. Sometimes my thoughts just run away from me, and my tongue goes with ‘em.” 

“Are you well?” Hanzo interrupted. It was the only explanation he could think of for McCree’s sudden change in behavior. 

McCree laughed, but it was a short and hollow sound, nothing at all like the laugh that Hanzo heard him give his other teammates. “No. No, I ain’t,” he admitted. “But I suspect you ain’t either. You should go to Angela.” 

“I am fine,” Hanzo frowned. 

“That slash on your side ain’t gonna heal itself.” 

Hanzo straightened, and hissed as the pain shot through every nerve in his body. McCree winced in sympathy, his fingers extended as though he had meant to reach out but stopped himself at the last moment. “Yeah that. Go get it looked at.” 

“How did you know?” Hanzo demanded. 

McCree shrugged. “Saw the blow land right as I arrived.” 

“I will take care of it,” Hanzo insisted. 

It was McCree’s turn to scowl. “No, I get the feelin’ that you won’t. Go to Ange. If you’re so worried she’s busy with the others, then go tomorrow mornin’. We’ll both feel a lot better if you do.”

“I do not need your advice,” Hanzo snorted. 

“You don’t,” McCree agreed. “But there it is anyway. You’re no good to us dead.” 

Hanzo regarded McCree closely in an attempt to decipher the game he was playing. The man’s face betrayed nothing. 

“I will consider it,” Hanzo decided. 

McCree’s face lit up. “Mighty fine.” He sobered just as quick. “If I see ya there, don’t take any offense to my bullshit. I gotta get my arm fixed up, and that always puts me on edge.” 

“Hn.” Hanzo once again hoped his lack of answer would help McCree move along. 

“Well…have a goodnight,” McCree tried with a lopsided smile. 

“Goodnight.” Hanzo closed the door without another word, mind reeling from the odd encounter.

\--- 

Hanzo was woken the next morning by a sharp, stabbing pain at his side. He clenched his teeth and tried to swallow his moan, rolling over and curling around his wound. Perhaps the cowboy had a point. He did not come here to die in front of Genji, after all. 

Hanzo managed to drag himself to his feet. 

“Athena?” He tried. 

“Yes, Agent Shimada?”

“Can you alert Dr. Ziegler?”

“Of course, Agent Shimada,” The AI replied. “She is already in the medical bay and can see you right away.” 

Hanzo grunted as his feet hit the floor. He managed to trudge the distance to the medical bay, disappointed that he needed to stop to catch his breath. The doors slid open in front of him. 

“Agent Shimada,” Angela greeted him without looking up. McCree was sitting on the bed, shirtless, while the doctor examined his arm. Hanzo blamed his lack of awareness on the gross loss of blood. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have allowed himself to fixate on the man’s broad, hairy chest, or the way his flesh arm tensed reflexively while the doctor examined his prosthetic one. His jaw wouldn’t normally have fallen slack. But the corners of his vision were beginning to blur, and he couldn’t really give a damn right now about the look of pure confusion the cowboy was giving him. 

“I will be with you in a minute. Please take a seat on that bed.” 

Hanzo nodded, and took two full steps before falling.

“Shimada!” The voice wasn’t the doctor’s. Hanzo looked up to find McCree peering down at him with mild concern. He felt smaller, warm hands at his torso, running over his body for an explanation. Dr. Ziegler muttered to herself in German once her fingers found the gash, and Hanzo grit his teeth to bite back the sound he was about to make. 

“Jesse, help me lift him to this bed.” 

Hanzo made a noise in protest, which instead came out as a sharp cry, as he felt strong arms jostle him harshly, lifting him by his back and under his knees. 

“Gently!!” Mercy snapped. 

“Sorry,” McCree mumbled. 

Hanzo twisted upward as his gi was gently pulled away, feeling as though his entire flank was on fire. Angela gave a long hiss. 

“You should have come to me right away!” She scolded, running to grab supplies. 

“I did not want to trouble you,” Hanzo answered automatically, glad that some semblance of his decorum remained intact. 

“Hanzo. This is what I’m hear for,” Dr. Ziegler’s face returned, softened with concern. 

“There are others who matter more.” 

That slipped out. The doctor’s face softened further, to Hanzo’s disdain, with something that looked like pity. 

“You matter,” She said firmly, voice not brokering argument. “Not any less than the others.” 

Hanzo’s eyes slid to focus on McCree, who was strangely still there, looking down at him with a small frown. 

“The wound is infected,” Dr. Ziegler continued with a frown, filling a syringe. “I will put anesthetic on the area to dull any pain while I work. Please let me know if it still hurts.” 

Hanzo nodded, eyes closing. 

“I am glad that you came to me when you did,” she sighed. “It would have been much worse otherwise. Jesse. You can go. Your arm is fine. Please call Ana for me on your way out.” 

Hanzo’s eyes flew open to meet McCree’s. “Thank you,” he said simply. 

McCree looked at him with bewilderment, but nodded before taking his leave. 

\--- 

Genji came to visit several hours later. Even though Genji’s visor was on, Hanzo could see that his younger brother was fuming. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He demanded in lieu of a greeting. 

“Hello to you too,” Hanzo replied wryly. 

“Oh, now you feel like telling jokes?” Genji threw his hands up. 

“It’s likely the painkillers,” Dr. Ziegler called from her office. 

Ah. That would explain why he currently felt as though a hot water bottle was nestled snuggly inside his brain. 

“Great. Fantastic. Look, I know you’re as high as a kite right now, but please try to remember this, anija,” Genji pleaded, only half in jest. “Don’t _ever_ do that again.” 

Hanzo blinked at him and broke into a silly smile. That seemed only to worry his younger brother even more.

“What?” Genji asked. 

“How many times have we been on the opposite side of this conversation?” Hanzo asked. 

Genji looked as though his circuits had completely fried before bursting into laughter. “Like that time I slept with the rival oyabun’s daughter?” 

“His wife,” Hanzo clarified. 

“She told me she was his daughter!” 

“Or the time in Osaka?”

“To be fair, that was _Osaka_ ,” Genji pointed out. “And you didn’t have that bad a time yourself, if I recall.” 

“Yes,” Hanzo agreed. “But not with the undercover police officers.” 

Dr. Ziegler poked her head out from her office and raised an eyebrow. “Plural?”

“Three,” Hanzo confirmed. 

Genji was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Mercy shook her head with a smile, and went back to work. 

“I’ve missed this,” Hanzo admitted. That brought Genji to a full stop.

“As have I,” Genji replied, more gently. 

Beyond his control, Hanzo’s eyes began to glisten. “I am sorry, brother.” 

“We have been through this,” Genji put a hand on his arm. This time, Hanzo did not jump at the touch.

“I know,” Hanzo nodded. “But I am still sorry.”

“And I still forgive you.” Genji’s voice crackled with static, and Hanzo wondered whether it was his vocal program picking up the emotion behind the words. 

They sat in silence for a while. 

“I was proud of your performance,” Genji offered suddenly. 

Hanzo shook his head. “I shall endeav—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Genji warned, but Hanzo was laughing, and Genji’s shoulders relaxed. 

“I apologize for Jesse’s behavior,” Genji continued. “It was unfair.” 

Hanzo nodded, somber again. “Yes. It is _completely_ unfair that a man so good-looking hates me that much.” 

It was meant as a joke, but instead of laughing, Genji took off his mask to better search Hanzo’s face. What he found seemed to cause him distress. 

“It was a joke,” Hanzo explained. 

“You deserve better,” Genji answered, the scars on his face deepening along familiar lines of anger. 

“A joke,” Hanzo insisted, but his brother’s eyes suggested he did not believe him. 

“He didn’t used to be like this.” Genji shook his head. “When he responded to Recall—he was a changed man. Something about losing Blackwatch, losing his mentor perhaps, affected him greatly.” 

Genji shifted restlessly, a sign of his irritation. “I wish you had met earlier. You would have been good for each other.” 

“Time is not for us to control, Genji,” Hanzo answered a bit too solemnly. “If it were, there is much I would have done differently. We can only move forward.” 

“I wish you would remember _that_ too when the drugs wear off.” Genji fell forward so that his elbows rested on the edge of Hanzo’s bed. “The problem is that McCree can’t. He can only look back with hatred. Not wanting to recover and acknowledge that which was lost, that which was good…there cannot be resolution in the path he walks, no moving forward. Being at peace with your past is essential to accepting yourself in the present.”

His brother’s voice had softened to take the calm timbre of his master. Hanzo only hummed in response, his eyelids growing heavy. 

“McCree is a good man at heart,” Genji continued, squeezing Hanzo’s arm. “I hope that someday, he will be able to see that you are too.” 

\--- 

The evening after he was released, there was a knock at Hanzo’s door. He opened it to find Jesse McCree standing much as he had the last time he had visited, hat grasped firmly in both hands at his chest, looking ready to bolt. 

“Greetings,” Hanzo nodded. 

“Howdy,” Jesse smiled at him again, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Just wanted to check in on ya.” 

“I am doing fine. Thank you.” Hanzo furrowed his brow, examining McCree with curiosity. While a part of him wanted the cowboy to leave, a larger part of him was wondering at his reappearance. “Is that all?”

“No,” McCree admitted, shifting his hat to reveal a bottle of whiskey. “I was hopin’ you might help me with this.” 

The man’s voice was trembling, as though it would break at any given force. While Hanzo continued to wonder at McCree’s motives, he knew that there was only one way that he would be able to find a definite answer. And so he nodded, and stepped to the side. McCree’s entire body relaxed, all the way down to his smile. 

“Mighty fine.”

Hanzo discovered that McCree only wanted to talk. He also discovered that he very much enjoyed talking with McCree. The cowboy was funny, and an excellent storyteller. He was also a generous listener, and a good laugher. Before he knew it, several hours had passed, and half the bottle of whiskey was gone. 

“Well, I’ve taken advantage of your hospitality for long enough,” McCree announced, pulling himself to his feet. “Thank you kindly for it.” 

“Thank you for your company,” Hanzo replied, standing as well. 

They stood awkwardly. Hanzo could sense that McCree’s body was wound up like a spring—the man desperately wanted to move for a purpose, but was holding himself back with all of his will. How strange. 

“I’m likely gonna put my foot in my mouth again soon,” Jesse said, finally turning to leave. “And I’m gonna have to ask your patience for it.” 

“You could just not do it,” Hanzo pointed out. 

“Wish it were that easy, sweetheart.” Jesse smiled at him sadly. “We don’t always get to be who we want to be.” 

“ _That_ I understand,” Hanzo huffed. 

Jesse nodded, and tipped his hat before leaving Hanzo even more confused than ever before. 

\--- 

The week after, Hanzo ran into McCree several times, but the man never acknowledged him. In fact, it seemed like McCree was going out of his way to avoid him, perhaps to ensure that he did not put his foot in his mouth as he said he would. 

A slow week meant that Hanzo was left to his own thoughts, and the more he thought back to his evening with McCree, the more he realized he had _enjoyed_ the man’s company, which was a rarity. 

Even stranger was the flutter in his heart every time he was on the cusp of running into McCree, and the sting that he felt when the man quickly took his leave. 

The situation was untenable, impossible, and thereby caused Hanzo to do the unthinkable: he sought Genji’s advice. 

“He did _what?!_ ” Genji grasped at his arm, pinching the flesh with his metal fingers. Hanzo regretted everything instantly. 

“He sought me for conversation,” Hanzo repeated uncomfortably. “And brought whiskey.” 

“When? Where? What did he say? DID YOU HAVE SE—” 

“ _Genji_.” Hanzo pressed his fingers against his temple to try to allay the headache that was quickly developing. 

“Sorry.” Genji didn’t sound sorry at all. “So what’s happened since?”

“Nothing,” Hanzo huffed. “He has been avoiding me.”

Genji deflated. 

“I was hoping you would be able to discern why,” Hanzo added. 

“I cannot guess at his motivation,” Genji seemed genuinely perplexed. “But that he approached you first is not to be dismissed lightly.” 

“Perhaps he has had a change of heart,” Hanzo snorted. “And was reminded why he hated me.”

“Or perhaps he is waiting for you to make the next move,” Genji sat up again eagerly.

“He plays these games?” 

“No, not intentionally,” Genji shook his head. “But doubting whether he should have engaged you at all? Fearing that you do not feel the same way? Certainly even the great Shimada Hanzo has sunk so low before.” 

Genji dodged the cookie that Hanzo had thrown at his head. 

“You make it sound romantic.” 

“And you doubt that it is, thereby proving my point,” Genji crossed his arms smugly. 

Genji did not manage to dodge the plate. 

While he would never admit it to his brother, Hanzo began to wonder whether Genji had a point. He would be lying though if he said he hadn’t lost sleep puzzling out the reason for McCree’s changes in attitude. He decided perhaps that it _was_ his turn to take a stab at this odd friendship, which is what brought him to the man’s door, with the same brand of whiskey that had been gifted to him the week before. 

He knocked, tugging absurdly at his clothes and hair. 

The door opened, and McCree frowned at him, ensuring that his body took up the entire door frame. 

“Greetings,” Hanzo tried a hesitant wave.

“Howdy,” McCree relented after a short pause. 

“I…was hoping you might help me with this.” He lifted the bottle. 

Jesse considered the whiskey. “You have good taste,” he answered finally. 

“So do you, I’m told,” Hanzo replied with a small smile, sure now that this was part of the game. 

“Well, come on then,” McCree used his shoulder to propel himself from the door frame. The man gestured to the floor, as he turned to look for glasses. 

“Thank you,” Hanzo offered softly when he was handed the liquor. They clinked glasses and sat in silence for a while. 

“How are ya feelin’?” McCree finally asked.

“Better. Thank you.” Hanzo nodded. There was a strange awkwardness that hadn’t been present at all the last time they’d had drinks. Hanzo decided this must be once again be a signal: it was now his turn to step up in the friendship. It was only fair. 

His eyes scanned the room, looking for something to hook onto. 

“What is Santa Fe like?” He inquired, eyes settling on a dog-eared postcard. 

McCree turned his head slightly in surprise, before chuckling. “Hot as hell in the summer, at boring as hell in the winter.” 

“But home…?” Hanzo pressed, remembering the faded serapes that the cowboy preferred. 

McCree was about to bring the glass to his lips again, and Hanzo’s new question made him pause. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Home.” 

Hanzo nodded, taking a sip from his drink, wondering whether it was time for a new topic. 

“In the summer,” McCree began again suddenly, as the thought struck him. “The sky’s as blue as anything you’ve ever seen. You can look down the highway and see forever and a day.” 

“What else?” Hanzo pressed gently. 

McCree turned to look at him fully, staring at him like he was seeing him for the very first time. 

“The flowers,” he answered slowly. “You wouldn’t expect ‘em, but you never see just one.” 

“Would you ever return?” 

Hanzo could tell right away that he had asked the wrong question. Jesse’s hand paused in midair, and his fingers tightened around his glass. 

“Nothin’ worth returnin’ for. The past is like that.”

“Sometimes.” Hanzo knew he had to tread carefully. “But not always.”

“Really.” Jesse chuckled, and took a long drink. He flicked his eyes up to meet Hanzo’s. “You tellin’ me there’s somethin’ back for you at Hanamura?”

“Nothing like you would imagine,” Hanzo shook his head. “But I return every year.” 

“Why?” Jesse looked genuinely curious. 

Hanzo hesitated. He had not told anyone before. Only Genji had witnessed his pilgrimage that once, and even then, Hanzo wasn’t entirely certain that his brother knew its true purpose. 

“Originally, to honour my brother.” 

“You killed him,” Jesse pointed out bluntly. 

“An action that I regretted every day afterward,” Hanzo’s eyes sharpened into a glare. Jesse sat back, aggression abated. 

“Even knowing that he is alive, I plan to return this year. For better or worse, my past has shaped the man that I am today.” Hanzo drank to that. “And I take away as much that is good as bad. If I do not learn from my mistakes, then I am doomed to repeat them.” 

Jesse snorted. “Agree to disagree, pardner.” However, Hanzo’s answer seemed to have caused his initial defensiveness to dissipate. 

It became easy after that, just like the first evening. They spoke for hours, sharing stories about what counted as home for each of them. 

“Well,” Hanzo stood, seeing the time. “I have taken advantage of your hospitality for long enough.” 

McCree laughed, not for the first time that evening, and Hanzo was quickly realizing the sound made his own heart sing. 

“You’re soundin’ a lot like me. You’re not takin’ advantage at all. Thank you for the company.” 

McCree was looking into his eyes again, with that warm smile, and his words seemed genuine. Hanzo smiled back. “Any time.” 

\--- 

They met every so often in the evenings after that, and it became much easier to speak with McCree—Jesse—when they were not alone as well.

Genji watched the new developments with great interest, and continued to press Hanzo. 

“It is not what you think,” Hanzo insisted one day, irritable because he wished that it were. 

“Isn’t it?” Genji challenged. 

“I was on painkillers,” He reminded his brother. 

“Does that make it less true?” Genji countered again. 

“What less true?” Hanzo replied through clenched teeth. 

“Your feelings.” 

Hanzo drew a breath to point out the flaw in his brother’s logic, when Jesse’s laughter boomed through the hallway, drawing his attention completely. When he turned again, Genji was giving him a smug look. Hanzo punched him hard on the shoulder—another re-found part to their relationship. Hanzo quietly marveled at the very first night McCree had visited him, at how he had influenced Hanzo’s decision to see Angela, and at how much easier things had been since. Then Jesse entered the room, beaming, and Hanzo just _marveled_.

“If you endeavor to be better, brother,” Genji prodded more gently. “Then endeavor to be better to yourself.” 

\--- 

Several weeks later, Hanzo received an unexpected knock at his door. Jesse had been away on mission for several days now, and they were not expected to return for a few days more. Nevertheless, there he was, when the door opened, eyes full of worry like Hanzo had not seen in a long time. 

“What is wrong?” Hanzo asked instantly, taking McCree’s arm and leading him into his room. 

“Nothin’, darlin’,” Jesse assured him. “Just glad to see you.” 

The pet names again. Jesse had stopped using them for almost a month now. He took a seat against the wall instead of against the bed as he usually did. 

“I thought you were in Dorado?” 

“Yeah. Shit. I get dates wrong all the time too,” Jesse waved off his concern with too much ease. It was barely an answer. 

“How did it go?” Hanzo inquired. 

“Well enough.” 

“What is _wrong_?” Hanzo asked again. 

Jesse was transfixed by the light on the ceiling. 

“Jesse?” 

McCree laughed. “It’s ‘Jesse’ now, is it?” he asked. There was a warmth to his words that suggested he was simultaneously teasing and pleased.

“I have been calling you that for some time now,” Hanzo frowned, offended. “If you would prefer—”

“No.” Jesse’s head snapped down and he looked straight into Hanzo’s eyes. “No. Jesse’s fine.” 

Hanzo sighed, and crossed his arms. He took his seat across from McCree. 

“Ran into an old ghost in Dorado,” Jesse spoke to the ceiling. “One I never expected to see again.” 

“Oh?” Hanzo inquired. 

“It’s…complicated,” Jesse confessed, head falling forward. “I can’t talk about it right now. Maybe tomorrow.” 

Hanzo found the request to be a strange one, but decided not to press any further. “Would you like a drink?” He asked instead.

“Hey, let’s go out,” Jesse jolted upward as the idea struck him. 

“Go out?” Hanzo repeated incredulously. “It is 11:00 o’clock.” 

“What are you, an old man?” Jesse teased again. He jumped to his feet. “Come on. Just for a walk.” 

Hanzo looked at him inquisitively. 

“I’ve been stuck on a plane for hours, come on,” Jesse pleaded, holding out both hands. 

Hanzo huffed, and took that which was offered. Jesse hummed, and pulled just a bit harder than Hanzo had expected, so that their chests were flush. 

“What are you doing?” Hanzo asked, his heart racing at the proximity. He would have tried to push away had he still the faculties to do so. 

“Takin’ you out,” Jesse announced. 

“Are you drunk?” Hanzo tried to sniff for alcohol. 

“Naw,” Jesse shook his head. “Just happy to see you darlin’.” 

“It’s ‘darlin’ now, is it?” Hanzo asked crossly, head spinning and blood rushing through his ears. 

“Does it bother you?”

Hanzo drew a breath to answer, but stopped himself. Jesse dipped his head to peer more closely. 

“No,” Hanzo admitted. The smile the split across Jesse’s face was contagious. 

“Come on then!” Jesse pulled at Hanzo’s hand, and pulled him towards the nearest exit. 

\--- 

They returned hours later, breathless and laughing, having spent the evening beneath the stars. Hanzo turned suddenly when they arrived at his door to find Jesse standing much closer than he had imagined. Hanzo took in a small breath, his eyes darting downwards to fixate on Jesse’s lips. Jesse’s arms wrapped tentatively around his waist, drawing him closer until they were just a breath apart. 

…and then Jesse pushed him away. 

Hanzo stared at Jesse, not able to find words. 

“I…can’t…Han…you don’t know how badly I wanna,” Jesse laughed a little bit too loudly. 

Hanzo hissed through his teeth and he spun to open his door. Jesse slipped in before he could close it. 

“Wait! Please, Hanzo.” Jesse put a hand on either side of Hanzo’s hip. “I’m sorry, I just…please listen.” 

Hanzo took several steps back, crossed his arms, and waited.

Jesse took a deep breath. “I got ahead of myself. And I’m sorry. Look…tonight I came across a ghost that I never expected to see again, and he just...has been the reason for so _many_ shitty things in my life. And even the thought of him makes me just regret everything.” 

“Jesse—”

“And I saw him _everywhere_ ,” Jesse pressed on as though Hanzo had not spoken. “In myself, mostly, but also in Morrison…and in you.” 

Hanzo’s breath caught in his throat. Jesse must have noticed. 

“But I was wrong,” Jesse took another step forward, but Hanzo retreated from his reach. McCree’s face fell, so he continued with quicker words instead, as though to make up the distance. “I was wrong. And…this is gonna make no sense, but I’m gonna say a lot of things. Bad things I don’t mean. Don’t listen to me. It’s not true.” 

“What?” Hanzo interrupted, his head spinning from his attempt to comprehend what was happening. 

“You’re not him.” It sounded as though Jesse was forgetting to breathe. “He’s not beyond redemption. You’re not beyond redemption. And maybe, even I—”

“I’m calling Angel—” 

“I just wanted to take you out before,” Jesse continued helplessly. “Because I’m selfish like that and I could. But for so long now I’ve cared about you, but I keep talkin’ myself outta it, ignoring it, abusin’ you because I wanted somethin’ I didn’t think I deserved. Didn’t occur to me until too late that I was wrong.” 

“I don’t understand,” Hanzo interrupted, frustrated. “Why would you tell me this—”

“Because I can’t stop it,” Jesse growled. “I can’t stop myself. I can only try to make myself better through bein’ better to you, when I can. I am a better person when I’m with you, Hanzo.” The man’s eyes were wide, earnest. “I only wish I recognized it earlier.”

“Jesse…are you crying?” Hanzo asked with alarm. He took a step forward, and Jesse met him the rest of the way and grasped his hands. 

“Honeybee, you gotta promise me,” Jesse continued. “Be patient with me. As patient as you’re bein’ now, as patient as you must have been to change the mind of a stubborn man.” 

“Come. You need to sit—" 

“Hanzo.” 

Hanzo looked up to meet Jesse’s pleading eyes. “If I ever offer you my hand, I hope you’ll always be able to take it. That you’ll always trust me enough to. No matter what shit I pull.” 

Hanzo felt his heart skip a beat, thought it must have stopped for a full minute, in fact. Jesse rushed into his arms, and he held Jesse tightly, rubbing soothing circles on his back, as he tried to wrap his mind around what McCree was saying. They must have settled on the bed and fallen asleep at some point this way, because when he next opened his eyes, Jesse was gone. 

It was just as well. He had no idea how to address what had happened last night, or and wasn’t even sure if he should believe anything that Jesse had said. His mind set itself to what it did best: trying to piece together the cause and effect, the conflict and its possible resolution, but he found there was just no way to explain the contradictions of the evening, and therefore, no easy way to respond. So he sat like a coward in his room until late-afternoon, until his hunger finally got to him. 

He brushed his teeth, untangled his hair in an attempt to look somewhat presentable, and trudged towards the kitchen.

“Howdy.” Jesse caught him off guard. Hanzo looked up abruptly, and was taken aback by how different the cowboy looked. He hadn’t bothered to tuck in his shirt, or even to confirm that it was clean. His hair was scattered in all directions, and the dark circles around his eyes had deepened. Remembering that he had failed to look in the mirror before leaving his room, Hanzo wondered how much he looked the same. 

“Hello,” Hanzo managed. 

“Drinks tonight?” McCree asked. 

“Yes. Of course,” Hanzo answered automatically. His answer was always yes. 

“My place then,” Jesse hummed, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he left Hanzo staring after him in confusion. 

\--- 

Hanzo could tell immediately that there was something wrong as soon as the evening started. Jesse was drinking too much, too fast. The nervous trembling had returned in his hands, worse than before. 

“What is it?” Hanzo asked, hoping finally for an explanation for Jesse’s strange behaviour. 

Jesse took another long sip from his glass. 

“Ran into an old friend.” 

“Reyes?” Hanzo guessed. The name had come up earlier in a briefing earlier that day. Perhaps that was why Jesse had been so emotionally distraught—he had been trying to process the events from the mission. 

McCree shuddered involuntarily. There was a long silence. 

“I can’t help but wonder,” Jesse mused. “Whether I’d failed him.” 

“How?” Hanzo asked. 

“Whether there was a sign I’d missed, whether I coulda stopped him from becomin’ who he is.” 

Hanzo frowned, seeing that the true question left unasked. He remembered how Jesse had admitted last night that he saw much of Reyes in himself, and had seem much of him in Hanzo. If that had caused his initial antagonism, then Hanzo could only guess at the extent to which Jesse had torn _himself_ apart over the years because of this perceived similarity. 

This would not do. He reached over to tear the glass away from McCree. 

“No.”

“What?” Jesse was irritated by the loss of his drink. 

“It is not your fault,” he answered simply. “Reaper is a culmination of his own mistakes, just as Genji was, just as I am. It is our decisions that make us.” 

“On that we agree,” Jesse chuckled darkly. “A man is his past.” 

Hanzo stiffened. It hit too close to home. “A man is also what he does with that past. How he sees it. How he reacts in the present.” 

“How’d you react?” Jesse’s eyes sharpened with an old cruelty. 

“I have made mistakes,” Hanzo acknowledged, his entire body still stinging with the sudden, invisible blow. “And I am making amends.” 

Jesse paused, fixing his eyes on a space just out of reach. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” 

“You are frustrating, Jesse McCree,” Hanzo huffed. 

Jesse turned his eyes downward and raised an eyebrow. 

“You speak of the past as though it’s determinant of one’s present and future. And I acknowledge this to be true. For worse and for better.” 

“I believe you got that sayin’ backwards.” 

“And I believe you forget the better,” Hanzo countered. “I would not be here today were it not for the man I was yesterday, if I had not faced my demons and bested them.” 

Jesse didn’t answer right away.

“He claims to have taught me all I know,” Jesse muttered finally. “I’d say that was accurate. Taught me all I needed to know about betrayal, mistrust, abandonment.” 

“Certainly.” Hanzo choose his next words carefully. “But he didn’t teach you everything.” 

Jesse blinked. 

“I had to accept recently that I was my father’s son, that I inherited his coldness, his sense of duty. But he was not completely a bad man. I also inherited from him my discipline, my unwavering sense of faith in those I love, cheekbones that could cut through glass…” 

Jesse broke into a snort, despite himself. 

“And he was not my only teacher. You have surrounded yourself with others, and they affect you,” Hanzo continued. “And Reyes himself must not always have led you astray. You would not be here without him. And we would not have met. To fully realize his effect, you must look, truly _look_ and what you’ve done. It will be hard, ugly,” Hanzo admitted, remembering the years that he faced his own past, and wallowed in his own regret alone. It made him feel better that he was here for McCree. “But only then can we move forward.” 

Jesse looked up at him with something akin to awe.

Hanzo remembered their previous evening together, how McCree had broken down, had been more vulnerable than Hanzo had ever seen. Hanzo decided that it was his turn to reciprocate. 

He took a step closer to Jesse to test his reaction. McCree watched him closely, his eyes darting to take in his every move. Hanzo reached forward tentatively for Jesse’s waist, and Jesse did the rest. 

\--- 

When Hanzo woke up, once again Jesse was gone. He tried not to be too disappointed by this: it wasn’t the first time this had happened, after all—not even the first time this week. 

Sex didn’t necessarily change pattern behavior. 

Instead of moping, Hanzo gathered his clothes, and decided to instead get an early start on the day, and to prepare for the upcoming mission the day afterward. He didn’t notice Jesse’s absence, or at least, tried his best to ignore it, until the man appeared again late that evening at his door. 

“Can I come in?” Jesse asked hesitantly. 

“You never need to ask,” Hanzo answered, taking a step back, wondering which version of McCree he would meet tonight.

“Look,” Jesse began, rubbing at the back of his neck. “What happened last night…it’d be best if you just forgot about it.” 

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Hanzo cut in sharply. 

“I was drunk, and it was a mistake,” Jesse tried again with more force. 

“ _Mistake?”_ Hanzo repeated. 

“You heard me, Shimada,” McCree’s eyes narrowed, and that old harshness seeped into his voice. “There’s no sense placin’ blame, but in the future, I’d thank you not to approach me that way when I’m drunk.” 

Hanzo felt a sharp blow in his chest that must have been his heart breaking. He staggered backwards, mind reeling from the shock. He had been foolish to think that a man who hated him so much could ever love him instead. He should have read Jesse’s strange reactions for what they were—proof of his inconsistent feelings. He had been so eager to jump at the promise of affection, as he had always been, that he had once again lost focus— 

_No._

Hanzo remembered the first evening Jesse had arrived at his door, nervous and hopeful. He remembered how Jesse had been the one to take the first step in their friendship. He remembered Jesse’s smile, meant only for him. He remembered the evening when Jesse had begged him for his patience, despite and because of himself. He remembered, and he had enough. 

“No.” 

Jesse looked up, clearly not anticipating this reaction. 

“No,” Hanzo repeated. “I have had enough of this.” 

“I don’t rightly know what you’re gettin’ at there pardner…” Jesse answered, warning hovering low in his voice. 

“I have had enough.” Hanzo repeated, shaking his head. “I promised my brother that I would endeavor to be better, and it is time that I delivered.” 

“What now?” Jesse backed down again, confused. 

“Believe whatever you like,” Hanzo steeled himself, was determined to continue. “But I owe the truth to us both. I am in love with you, Jesse McCree.” 

Jesse’s mouth fell open, and Hanzo rushed to continue. 

“I have struggled with my feelings as well, denied them, buried them, because I am afraid to lose even what we have. Because I am afraid that I do not deserve this,” Hanzo shook his head. “But regardless of whether I do or not, regardless of what you feel, regardless of what is holding you back, I owe it to myself to admit this openly. To allow myself the indignity and vulnerability of being shot down.” 

“Han—” 

“You will not lose my friendship if you do not feel the same way,” Hanzo pushed onward, knowing he would not find the courage to continue otherwise. “You could not ever lose that. Please understand that I need to admit to you my affection, if only to feel worthy of the chance.” 

Hanzo had run out of breath—he stood heaving for it, although it made his head spin. 

“Han.” 

Hanzo looked up to find that Jesse’s eyes were once again wide and glistening as they had been a couple evenings ago, and in them, he finally found his answer, albeit not in words. As his thoughts went back to several nights ago, he was able to put together how closely Jesse’s words now mirrored his own. 

“You feel the same…” Hanzo began, as the realization slowly and beautifully took root. 

Jesse only nodded, moving forward put a hand on each side of Hanzo’s face. 

“You feel—” Jesse pressed forward to swallow the rest of his words in a sweet and gentle kiss—the first of many that evening. 

\--- 

“Hanzo!” 

Hanzo spun abruptly, away from the inferno of ash and smoke in front of him. 

“Hanzo!” Jesse screamed, voice hoarse. “Take my hand!” 

Jesse watched the recognition dawn across the archer’s face, and the absolute trust and affection that bloom in equal measures. 

Hanzo launched himself towards Jesse without hesitation, and they fell to safety in each other’s arms. 

\--- 

Every cell in Jesse McCree’s body seemed to halt in place at once, nearly jerking his consciousness straight out of his body. He fell to the ground with a gasp, heaving for air. He squinted until his eyes reacquainted themselves with natural light, and looked around frantically. 

Everything was exactly as he had left it. Nothing had changed. 

His heart fell, and he slumped to the ground, chronal accelerator still in his hand. That had been his last charge. To get another was impossible: Winston was still on high alert after the accelerator had disappeared from his lab while he was still tinkering with it. There would be no second chance, as much as he had hoped for it. 

Jesse exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steel himself. It had been his fault, after all. This had all happened because he had been too slow—he had denied his affection for Hanzo until the man’s last breath, had caused Hanzo so much confusion that the archer had faltered in his trust of him at the last minute. 

When Winston had announced the prototype for his new chronal device, an improvement on Tracer’s current model, Jesse saw it immediately for what it was: a chance to do better, a chance to say earlier what he could not say, to earn earlier what he did not earn—to finally face his past and take responsibility for it, as Hanzo had urged him to do. And yet he still pulled back, worried finally that giving into his own desires completely would alter time and space beyond recognition, and this was likely what had made him fail Hanzo twice over. 

Jesse gasped, curling in on himself, his lungs clawing for air that he could not seem to reach as the tears streamed freely, as always, too late. 

“Jesse?” 

Jesse froze, not daring to hope. 

A familiar patter of feet quickened, bringing their owner to his side. 

“My love,” Hanzo murmured with concern, gathering Jesse towards him. “What is wrong?” 

Jesse laughed, wiping at his face, as he placed a hand on either side of Hanzo—*his* Hanzo’s neck to steady him for a kiss. 

“Nothin’ anymore, sweetheart. Nothin’ anymore.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Extra tags: Major character death (kind of?), Time travel. 
> 
> Unseen: Outside, Overwatch logo on the side of Gibraltar now reads “Moverwatch” and they specialize in moving cargo internationally and…watching it. Gerard is alive. Doomcio is canon. I’m just kidding. Don’t mess with time travel, kids. Did I pull it off? ;-;


End file.
